


a real crowd pleaser

by Fuckboy Phoebus (The_Resurrection_3D)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Threesome - M/M/M, With Several Asterisks By The Dubcon Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/Fuckboy%20Phoebus
Summary: There are a lot of advantages to fucking your boss.





	a real crowd pleaser

**Author's Note:**

> From time to time I think about the comment I got from someone with an ABO-themed username that essentially accused this of being PaulTord rape porn. By time to time, I mean often. There's just so much to unpack. 
> 
> But, at the end of the day, I would rather someone skip out on a story they'd like than read something that ruins their next ten minutes/hour/day. 
> 
> So, yeah, that's why this is tagged as dubcon now despite the fact that I didn't originally write it that way. I still stand by that it's all implicitly consensual, but then again I apparently guzzle down the rape culture kool-aid so what do I know. Proceed with caution.

There are a lot of advantages to fucking your boss. Namely, having a bed big enough to actually fuck on.

Sure, Paul finds something in stolen locker room moments, but Patryck is much happier here, head on Paul’s soft stomach, fingers idly plucking at the rope that binds Paul’s chest harness to the spreader bar between his ankles, forcing his legs up in the air. Paul’s whole body trembles, his wrists trying to twist in their silk rope binds, his head dipped back into Tord’s pillow (the dakimakura cover slipped off and discarded because “she doesn’t need to see this”).

Yes, all in all, much happier here, curled against Paul and listening to that deep, quick thudding of his heart.

Oh, and lest he forget another advantage to their arrangement: Tord actually doing some work. Or, in this case, all of it. Tord has Paul’s legs resting against his shoulders as his head bobs furiously between them, as the belt wrapped around Paul’s cock is pulled tighter.

If Tord hadn’t taken off his prosthesis, his other hand would probably be manipulating the butt plug certainly settled inside Paul, but the area upon which it’s mounted is splotched with bruises, so Patryck can’t really blame him for forgoing the limb entirely.

And watching Tord wrestle Paul down with only one arm and making him give thanks for everything he’s done so far…

Tord pulls off suddenly, a string of saliva connecting the purple head of Paul’s cock to his bruised lips.

A low whimper from Paul, a growl from Red Leader.

So, a third advantage, then: a perfect vantage point to see the show.

“Oh god,” Paul groans. “What’s happening now?”

Oh, that’s right: Tord had ordered Patryck to blindfold Paul before leading him into the room. He hasn’t gotten to see the way Tord’s cheeks have flushed, or the way his brows knit in determination as he sucks cock, the way his remaining silver eye is sparked with a deep, primal hunger.

How tragic.

“Shut up, dear,” Patryck replies, softly smacking Paul’s nose with the back of his hand. Paul tries to bite playfully at it, but Patryck pulls away, tweaking Paul's nose and being rewarded with a soft peck on the back of his fingers.

Tord is panting as he sits back on his haunches, placing a firm kiss on the inside of Paul’s thigh as his remaining hand goes to his eye patch, flipping it up to reveal the top of a cork lodged where an eyeball should be.

Patryck’s own eyes must be widening, because once Tord is done emptying his socket into his palm, he meets Pat’s gaze and shrugs. “I’m thirsty,” he says, cork clamped in his teeth.

“I am too,” Paul interjects. “Can I have some water, please? Oh, and yellow, I guess.”

“This is vodka,” Tord replies. “And what do you say?”

“You drink vodka warm?” Patryck asks. “Are you a fucking animal?”

Another shrug. “It’s nice to have some on hand.” He crawls up the bed to Paul, plucking on the rope in a way that makes Paul hiss as he asks again, “And what do you say?”

"Hurry up, I don't have all day?" 

Patryck thinks of the trunk full of toys underneath this bed, of how many of them are just the right size to fit into that empty socket. And the conspicuous lack of skull-fucking in the hentai Tord’s shown him during their weekly movie nights.

So he asks.

Tord gives a tiny laugh. “I’d at least try if I felt much of anything in here anymore.” He grabs Paul by the jaw and repeats himself thrice, voice low and dark, until Paul swallows and asks with all the requisite niceties. “Good boy.” He takes a hearty swallow of the small bottle, before dumping the rest down Paul’s throat.

“I can’t believe anime lied to me,” Patryck says as he returns his attention to Paul’s cock still flush against his stomach, the skin painted a deep pink. He takes it in a loose grip, gently pumping as Paul’s hips cant into the motions.

“That’s my line.” Tord tosses the bottle over his shoulder, which Patryck is about to bark at him for when Tord suddenly grabs his chin and smashes their lips together.

Patryck cranes his neck up into the action, allowing Tord’s calloused fingers to travel down, brushing over his veins.

He starts to pump harder.

Tord quickly releases him, however, as the renewed sounds of Paul’s moaning fill the air.  

Patryck continues attending to Paul, so Tord settles down on his stomach again, legs resting bent against the headboard and arms pressed against Paul’s thighs. Looping the belt around his knuckles as he opens his mouth, signaling for Patryck to slip the head of Paul’s cock between his lips.

His pace now is far more leisurely, reduced to light sucks and kisses on the head as Patryck strokes what’s left. Soon, however, Patryck is shifting down, pulling Paul’s dick towards his own lips.

“You’re doing it wrong, move,” He snaps as he shoves Tord’s head back. “Let me show you how it’s done,” before he braces himself up on Paul’s pelvic bone and glides his tongue down the underside of his cock. Paul’s hips buck, a breathy cry escaping.

“Oh, so you finally decide to participate just to bitch at me?” Tord asks. “Why am I not surprised.”

Patryck pulls back, leveling the other man with cool practicality. “If you wanna really torment Paul, you need a more nuanced approach.”

 _“I’m gonna die,”_  Paul groans from above.

That brings a smile to Tord’s scarred face. “By all means, then, show me how it’s done,” he says as he gently pushes the lock that’s fallen free of Patryck’s ponytail back behind his ear.

Dutifully, Patryck holds Paul’s cock upright, wiping the beads of precum over the tip with his thumb. “First of all, he likes it when you use a little teeth here…”

* * *

Both of their mouths are on him now, moving along in different directions, changing speeds, but occasionally coming together at the top or breaking off to kiss. Every nerve in his body is alight as their tongues swirl around the head of his dick, searching for each other around him. Tord has also withdrawn his arm to find the plug again, twisting and bobbing it inside, scraping his prostate with every shallow thrust.

( _oh, this spot is particularly sensitive)_

He’s lost control of his voice entirely, though it’s not like they’re paying much attention, anyway. The most mind either has paid to him has been when he’d whined he needed to cum, please, please, (probably for the fifth time in a row) and Patryck had merely sniped back, “Yeah, probably.” Him and Tord had both laughed at that, before quickly returning to their own conversation.

That was hotter than it probably should've been.

_(zig-zag your tongue along here, it drives him crazy)_

Paul’s already started bucking his hips so violently that both Tord and Patryck have had to pin him down. His head dips back into the pillows, straining his attention towards his breaths – the in, the out, the arc of his heart towards the sky so his legs can relax even that little bit into the bind.  _Breathe into your belly,_  that’s what Patryck had told him once.  _Breathing in your chest will only make the anxiety worse._

Well, he wouldn’t call it anxiety, but the sensations crashing over his head certainly are skating that line. The burn in his hamstrings, the shaking of his muscles, the intensity of their ministrations and the painful throb at the base of his cock as his release tries to push through the belt, aching ripples spreading through his thighs and pelvis with every heartbeat.

He’s in love with it all, truly, but –

_(Play with his balls a little - yeah, like that.)_

_(Such a good boy)_

"Please, d-don't stop..."

_(I've been really into ruined orgasms lately - what do you think, Tord?)_

Paul might not have been kidding when he said he was going to die.

**Author's Note:**

> Roast me


End file.
